Sovereign
by dancewithdragons
Summary: "She had always lived in the shadow of her sister, and would forevermore." The story of Sybil Stark, the gentle wolf; unwilling queen of Westeros. (Rated M)
1. Prologue

They had dressed her in an iridescent gown of cloth-of-silver silk. Her soft brown hair had been brushed into loose curls around her waist and soft slippers of interlacing white and silver were placed on her feet. They slid silver rings with diamonds and onyx on her slim, pale fingers and she wore a crown of freshwater pearls.

Her maids garnished her neck with a thin chain of silver that had a wolf pendant with sapphires for eyes, and on her wrists were bangles of mixed iron and silver. She looked every bit a bride, commented one maid who was brave enough to say anything at all. The empty compliment did nothing for her, however.

The weight of the black velvet maidencloak emblazon with the white wolf of her House chained her to her fate.

"You are a vision, sister." Eddard Stark entered the room, clad in grey and white. He had a solemn cloud hanging about him.

She bowed her head demurely in thanks before bidding the maids to give them leave. "I feel an awful dread," she told her brother when they were alone.

"It was not my place to deny my king," he said carefully. "Robert insisted."

"I don't _want_ to be his wife, Ned. I'd rather throw myself from the highest tower in King's Landing." Sybil stared at herself in the mirror and frowned. "It is not me he wants, and you know that Ned. It's Lyanna he loved, not I. He didn't even give me a second glance when our sweet sister was near."

Sybil Stark shared the same brown curls and silver-grey eyes as her sister, and would now share the same man as her sister as well. Resentment bubbled under her skin. She wished she'd never met Robert, that he had never seen in her what he saw in Lyanna. _I am not Lyanna. S_he wanted to scream it to the realm. _I am _not _Lyanna. _But she had always lived in the shadow of her sister, and would forevermore.

"I am sorry, Sybil.'

Eddard handed her a bouquet of pale blue roses and she knew there was no way out. She stood as straight as she could and slipped into a mask of cool indifference. "So am I."


	2. Chapter 1

The ceremony had been quick and simple, and Sybil was grateful for it.

The procession made its way from the Sept of Baelor to the Red Keep at a slow pace. The poor of the city tossed flowers and strips of pretty fabric at their feet, and the richer would hand them silk and pelts and other things. One ever offered up a small pendant of silver wrought in the shape of a crescent moon. In truth the trifles meant little to her, but she appreciated the thought.

Beside her, Robert was beaming at the smallfolk. He looked brilliant in a suit of black enamel armor with golden chainmail underneath. "All these people," he said, "here for us! Amazing!" She nodded and began to shrink away, but he pulled her under his arm. "Not even a smile. By the gods, like your brother you are."

She looked up at him then. "Do I disappoint His Grace?" she asked, knowing well she did. She was not the charismatic, shining Lyanna. She was not anything like that at all.

Her husband didn't answer her, only resumed greeting the people, _his_ people. _And mine too_, a voice inside her head whispered. She was his queen now, and would rule over these folk beside him.

They reached the great hall of the Red Keep just before the sun had set. The rays of crimson reflected off her gown like a flicker of candlelight.

The royal steward announced them, and the entire Keep cheered. Lords and ladies, maids and servers, and even her brother Eddard was smiling when she entered the hall on the arm of her husband. Beside Ned was a woman made of gold with shimmering emeralds for eyes; his bride to be, Cersei Lannister.

Robert took her to sit at the dais and ordered their cups be filled. Trays of buttered biscuits and ham and boar were presented to them and she turned it all down, accepting only a small pheasant on her plate and some greens. If she ate much more there would be no keeping it down.

Music began playing after the tenth course, and Sybil watched as her brother escorted his future wife to the middle of the hall. They spun with ease, her ruby gown twirling. She envied Cersei, who would live in Winterfell for the rest of her days, carefree and happy, whereas she would be living in the boiling south with a man who could never love her and a crown to weigh her down.

The sight of the two dancing made Robert antsy. "A dance?" he asked her, extending his hand. She accepted, rising, and the crowd roared for them. _King Robert,_ they shouted. _Sybil, Sybil_!

Other couples that were waltzing stopped and cleared the floor until it was just she and Robert alone. He anchored his arm around her waist and she held his hand, staring at their feet as they began to step to a song about Robert's victory on the Trident.

A part of her pitied the way his grip tightened on her when her sister was mentioned, _the fair northern maiden made of snow_, but another part grew hateful. If Lyanna hadn't died it would be her sister dancing with the drunken stag, not she.

She did not know how long they were dancing before Robert became sloppy and his hands slid low, groping her bottom and his lips found hers with haste. Lords hooted and ladies giggled. Sybil forced herself not to push him away. A queen could not slight her king, especially on the night of their wedding.

"Perhaps we should go to bed," she suggested, though the thought of _that_ disgusted her further than his public advances.

He lifted her into his arms as '_The Queen took off her sandal, the King took off his crown_' began playing. "Let the bedding begin!" the king shouted to the crowds at the tables.

Nothing in her life could have prepared Sybil for her wedding night, where she would consummate her marriage and pledge her loyalty. She had always dreamed it would be a happy night full of love and laughter, but it seemed Sybil was the only one who _wasn't_ laughing.

He quickly carried her up the stairs and kicked in large oaken double doors. "Undress," he commanded as he ripped away his cloak and overtop.

Sybil pursed her lips. She had not expected him to be so assertive, yet she had not expected any of this. Hesitantly, she pulled off her bridecloak, a massive thing made of black and gold silk with a crowned stag on the back. Robert poured himself another cup of wine and when it was empty he tossed the goblet away, chugging the rest of the pitcher. She watched in queer wonder as a trickle as red as blood fell down his chest, disguised by black hair.

"Should you not ease from drink?" She put her cloak on the back of a chair and slipped out of her shoes, carefully removing the ornate jewelry from her fingers and neck and taking the crown of freshwater pearls from her hair.

Robert tossed the pitcher her way and red wine splashed up onto her silver-silk gown, staining it. "Undress," he repeated.

"Robert-"

He made his way to her and tore the fabric from her torso, grabbing her breasts hungrily and shoving her onto the bed. She leaned away from his messy kisses and balled her fists into the sheets in pain as he thrust into her, over and over. "_Lyanna_," he whispered hoarsely.

The king was asleep before long, and Sybil lay awake with tears in her eyes. Her beautiful gown was ripped in half and she had still not stopped bleeding. She wished for Winterfell and the summer snow, for the sweet howling of wild wolves. All she could hear in King's Landing were the snores of her husband and the laughter of men and women below. She hated them all for their happiness.

Quietly, she slipped from the bed and undressed herself, wrapping the bridecloak around her shoulders as she folded her tarnished gown and placed it on the table by the balcony. She searched the room for a proper shift and upon finding nothing suitable she sighed. Of course Robert would order such promiscuous wear for his wife.

She pulled on the thickest, longest bedshift she could find and placed the cloak back onto the back of the chair, making her way to the bed. Robert pulled her in once she laid down and nudged his face into her hair mumbling something unintelligible, and Sybil knew she would not find sleep that night.


	3. Chapter 2

Sybil woke up to an empty bed, the half where Robert had slept long grown cold.

_I hope he is ashamed_, she thought as she sat upright. Something was sticky between her thighs and she was not surprised to see that she had bled into the nightgown. Mixed in with Robert's seed, it had turned a sickly pink color, like that of the morning sky.

She called for maids that filled a tall copper tub with steaming water. They undressed her and helped her in, tending to the bedding and any other messes after she was settled. The water seeped into her and soothed the ache between her legs.

A young woman with light pepper hair brushed away her tangles and another woman gently scrubbed the dirt from her skin. She was dried with thick towels and dressed in a thin gown of glimmering lilac, her hair brushed and braided behind her.

Her tattered wedding gown was taken away and her bridecloak was taken to the wardrobe. "I should like to break my fast on the balcony," she told one of the maids as she laced thin boots up her legs.

"Yes, m'lady."

Sybil moved to the double glass doors that lead to the balcony and opened them with a gentle shove. A breeze caressed her and her skirts shook softly with the wind. The cool air reminded her of Winterfell and she recalled the intriguing gold woman who would be its new lady. "Send for Lady Cersei Lannister," she called over her shoulder. The maids curtsied and left her with haste.

Before long she heard her chamber door open and close, soft as a whisper. She turned and stood. It was the lioness of Lannister, wearing a dashing gown of emerald samite that complimented her eyes. She dipped her head elegantly, golden waves toppling over her shoulders. "Your Grace," greeted the woman with a reserved kindness.

"Please, sit." Sybil gestured to a chair and returned to her own seat, relaxing once more. "So, you are to be my goodsister."

Cersei nodded. "It is to be so."

"You do not seem pleased." Sybil sat upright and raised a brow. "Is my brother not to your liking?"

"Lord Eddard is kind to me." It was a feeble answer, and she knew the woman had more on her mind than Ned's sense of chivalry. She waited until the lioness continued. "Forgive me, my queen, I do not mean to insult. His lordship is a good man."

"Aye," Sybil replied. "And a cold one, though I am sure he will warm to you, radiant as you are. Perhaps it is the north that worries you?" Casterly Rock was a great deal further south than Winterfell, warm and bustling and bright. The north was rather cold, wet and dark in comparison. Sybil leaned in. "You may speak your mind."

Cersei seemed hesitant. "My father made a well constructed match in Lord Eddard and I. Joining Houses Lannister and Stark was crucial; if it was not I marrying Eddard, it would be my brother Jaime marrying you. But Robert got his claws in you too fast." The woman was distant now, as if reminiscing. "My father told me once that I would be queen. He swore it to me, 'Cersei' he said 'I'll make a queen of you some day.' But it is you that Robert wanted. And to be sure, of course. You are Lyanna reincarnate."

Sybil eyed the woman sadly. She had wanted to reign beside the stag king, bare his black-haired babies and be queen over the seven kingdoms, yet she was to be sent north to marry a man that she couldn't care less for. A sorrow pained her for the loss of Lady Catelyn Tully, Ned's first wife, dead from birthing Ned's only son and heir. She had been a sweet woman, Sybil even stayed with her in Riverrun for most of the war, taking over care for Robb when she passed.

If only the gods had not taken her from this world, and put Cersei in her place. Perhaps everything would have worked out for the better, and Lord Tywin could have made his only daughter queen and Sybil could live out her days married to an Umber or Karstark.

However the gods had other things in store for the realm, it seemed, and Cersei would share her fate, unhappy in a place unknown to her with a man she did not love. "It seems the gods have given us both a greater purpose than what we had in mind for ourselves. Perhaps that is a mercy."

"The gods have no mercy," Cersei said darkly. "That's why they're gods."

The words would ring in Sybil's head for years to come.


End file.
